Tobacco Road - Erskine Caldwell [37]
“That’s because you don’t put your trust in the Lord.”
“You ain’t got that much money sure enough, have you?”
Bessie took the check-book from her skirt pocket and showed it to him. While he was looking at the name of the bank and the balance to her account tabulated on the stub, she walked to the door and motioned to Dude to come inside.
“Who’s that?” the man said. “Is he your kid?”
“That’s Dude Lester. Everybody’s heard of the Lesters on the tobacco road. Me and Dude is going to get married to-day. As soon as we can get the new automobile we’re going to ride around to the courthouse and get leave to marry.”
The salesman shoved the check-book into her hands, and ran to the door of the office.
“Come here quick, Harry!” he said. “I got a real sight to show you.”
An older man came out of the office and walked over to where Bessie and the salesman stood.
“What’s up?” he said, glancing from one to the other.
“This woman here is going to marry that kid, Harry—what do you know about that! Have you ever seen anything like it before?”
The older man asked Dude how old he was.
Dude was about to tell him that he was sixteen when Bessie pushed him behind her.
“That’s none of your business, how old he is. I want to buy a new automobile. That’s what I came here for. I walked five miles this morning to get here, too.”
The two men were whispering to each other when she had finished talking. The older one looked at her face, and when he saw the two large round holes in her nose, he stepped forward and tried to see down into her nostrils. Bessie covered her nose with her hand.
“Good God!” he said.
“Ain’t it a sight, though?” the salesman said.
“Has she got any money?” Harry asked him. “Don’t waste no time fooling with her if she ain’t. There’s a lot of them just like her who come in here from the country and never buy nothing.”
“She’s got a check-book on the Farmers’ Bank in Augusta, and she said she’s got eight hundred dollars in her account. The stub shows it, too.”
“Better call them up and find out about it first,” Harry said. “She might be telling the truth, and she might be lying. Some of them people out in the country do some tricky things sometimes. She might have found the checkbook and filled it out herself.”
They went back into the office talking about Bessie’s nose, and closed the door. After the salesman had called the bank, they came out again where Bessie and Dude were waiting.
“How much do you want to pay for a car?” the salesman said.
“Eight hundred dollars,” Bessie told him.
Harry nudged the salesman with his elbow.
“Now, this is a nice little job here,” he said, leaning against the fender of a new touring model. “It’s eight hundred dollars. You can drive it away to-day, if you want to. You won’t have to wait for the tags. I’ll get them for you some time next week. You can drive a new car anywhere in the State for seven days while you are waiting for the tags to come from Atlanta.”
They winked at each other; every time they wanted to put over a quick sale they told that lie about the registration laws.
Dude went to the car and blew the horn several times. The tone of it pleased him, and he grinned at Bessie.
“Do you like it, Dude?”
“Ain’t nothing wrong with it,” he said, blowing the horn again.
“We’ll take that one,” Bessie said, pointing at the car.
“Let’s see your check-book,” the other man said, jerking it out of Bessie’s hand before she could give it to him.
He took the check-book, tore out a blank, and hastily filled it out for eight hundred dollars.
While the man was writing the check for Bessie to sign before she could change her mind or leave the garage, the salesman was again trying to look down into her nose. He had never seen anything like it before in all his life.
“Sign your name here,” she was told.
“I always have to make my mark,” she said.
“What’s your name?”
“Sister Bessie Rice.”
“You must be a woman preacher,” the man said. “Ain’t you one?”
“I preach and pray, both.”
She touched the end of the